


Everybody One Motion

by Margo0504



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-02
Updated: 2019-03-01
Packaged: 2019-11-07 20:11:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17967248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Margo0504/pseuds/Margo0504
Summary: Short stories of days when nations are being nations.





	Everybody One Motion

Awaken, Old Knight

Gilbert opened his eyes, rather unwillingly, only to catch a glimpse of his gloomy room. Covered windows allowed complete solace for the male. As much as he wanted to get up, he simply could not. To better put it, he had no intention of moving. He wanted to stay this way forever if possible, as his presence was not of importance anymore. Faint memories rolled into his head, the smell of gunpowder hitting his nose and the roof of his mouth. Lovely days where the grass shone and the brilliant beasts that carried him on their backs took him to a world meant to be his, all for the taking. A shadow of a smile appeared on his face and he began to reminisce, falling into a world of the past. 

It was a shame that he never heard the sound of his door opening and closing, or the heavy footsteps and a muffled voice filled with irritation. Gilbert was ripped from his dreaming when the darkness was engulfed by blinding light in a heartbeat. "Get up, and do something with your life," snarled Ludwig.

_____________

Ponder, Fallen King

Arthur's lips met with the cool rim of the otherwise hot cup filled with tea. The divine liquid travelled down his throat and relaxation snaked through his body. With a sigh, he placed the cup down, the saucer creating a small but pleasant sound, and the tired man sunk into the plush chair. His fingers roamed the arms of said chair, running over the same spots over and over again. He knew this chair as if it was the back of his hand; for how long he owned this, he did not know.

When was the last time he had rested in a furniture made of the riches he had rightfully earned? A small voice in the back of his head snickered, and the rest of him fell silent. No, when was the last time he sat on a throne made of the bones he stole? Sighing, Arthur picked up the cup again and took another sip.

_____________

Remember, Lonely Artist

Roderich stared into a portrait unfamiliar to him. His hands were behind his back, placed in a proper manner as he stared long and hard at the woman shown. He did not find anything so special about the piece in particular, but something about it made him jerk his head and stop in his tracks. Five minutes, maybe ten had passed and his nose might as well have been pressed against it. Why did he stop here? What was so special about that woman in the portrait? She, with her umber locks falling ever so beautifully to her torso, or her unmarked skin whose radiance was perfectly captured in the mix of paints, or those eyes. Yes, perphaps it was her eyes. They were so viridescent.

He gulped. After a moment of rapid blinking, Roderich shook his head and walked away. He felt slightly dazed from the concentration. He thought that those eyes may have followed him, and deep down, he wished they did.

**Author's Note:**

> This entire work is created so that readers can see their favorite nations and wonder what or who they might be reffering to or thinking of. A lot of it will be your interpretation and if it isn't too much trouble, I'd like to hear it in the comments. Anything can be the right answer. Thank you for taking the time to read this fic and note.


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